i was thinking, like, after a couple puffs of the Bridge’s good ****, like

I need to expand my ****in’ horizons, like, ****ing seriously, man

so I was thinking, like, Ophelia’s **** is off the chain, can you guys teach me how to do that ****?

To expand your horizons, first, expand your mind. You’re on the right track with the **** from Under the Bridge, but for a more inspiring high, try large quantities of Happidex and Smileprin.

Once you’re suitably antidepressed, you can start writing. Make sure to write whatever the **** comes into your head, as long as it sounds like you fap with a dictionary. Truly bad poetry should sound like you failed an English major for being too pretentious.

If you find yourself too spaced out on antidepressants to write, you can cut yourself to jolt you back to reality.

The most important rule to remember about emo poetry is that making sense is not optional, it’s forbidden.

Here’s an example:

meaningless contrast
evidently superficial
society superficial
damage has been
sustained release
me from my self
constructed self
identity crisis
management security
leak as been contained
within the aspect
of the dissociated
from reality

It’s a dogreat timesentary about this guy who lived in LA and the city god spoke to him through one of those traffic signs with the LED displays. Well, it’s not a dogreat timesentary exactly, but I’m pretty sure it’s based on a true story. Apparently that kind of thing happens a lot in LA.

Also, your parents grounding you is a sign that you should run away and live on the streets. The city is calling you to itself. But first, watch L.A. Story. You might not have access to a DVD player once you’re outside.

I haven’t seen that film yet, but it’s not quite the same as what happened to me, I could hear the parking meter’s voice, it was all clangly like pocket change falling out of a waterfall. I think I shall watch it anyway though.

i was walking around the city in the evening a few days ago, listening to my ipod and smoking cloves, and then the batteries ran out so i put it in my backpack and just listened to the traffic and i felt this profound sense of belonging, like a spiritual experience.

it started to get dark but I kept walking around and then the strangest thing happened. this parking meter starting talking to me and said it was my spirit guide. the parking meter showed me a vision of the city-god being born and told me it was the first of the newborn gods of the modern age.

it was all so weird, i talked to the parking meter until some police arrived and said i was loitering and i had to go home but then when i got home my parents grounded me for staying out past my curfew and i thought that was probably a sign, but what of i don’t know.

i am so totally depressed. now that finals are over, i have to go home to my parents in chicago for the entire summer. my mom got me a job as a mail clerk in her law office so i could “get a taste of reality.”

Reality is overrated. I had an unpleasant taste of it a few months ago. I’d forgot to get my prescriptions refilled and it was a Sunday and the chemists were all closed. Log in to see images!

More power to you Escher! Being asked to prove your identity as a woman is demeaning and sexist, so just ignore every small minded loser that thinks you need to do something more than be to prove who you are.

I bet if you asked any of them to prove that their male reproductive organes and/or tesiticles are as large as they insinuate they’d have nothing. Figuratively and literally.

i’ve been having nightmares for the past four days. i can’t always remember what they’re about, but i wake up sweating and shaking and gasping for breath. the last one i had, i dreamed i was at summer camp and i got into the shower and gilbert gottfried was there, naked. he smiled at me, and i screamed and woke up. it was awful.

at first i thought it was the risperdal causing the nightmares — especially that one where my parents sold me to the Cherokees to be a croupier at a casino — so i stopped taking it, but the nightmares continued.

i think … i think it’s trent trying to communicate with me. i think he’s angry with me for ever believing all those lies about him. how can i let him know how sorry i am?

I took Ambien once and had all these crazy lucid dreams. You could try that, then when you start dreaming you just focus and you can control the dream and maybe you can find Trent in the dreamworld.